I Feel So Close To You
by Day.By.Random.Day
Summary: A near death experience and some cuddling, and maybe a little more. just a cute story.  please read and review!


There he was, falling away as the masked criminals pulled him away by his dark curls. "Sherlock" John yelled after him. Sherlock's cold eyes stared back silently at him mixed with an emotion he could not quite discern. "Sherlo-" and then the world was a sudden abyss of black and cold.

…...

John awoke to the cold. A damned cold at that. Even during his tour in Afghanistan did the nights ever get this chilly. He opened his eyes to searing white and quickly closed them again. What the hell? He slowly opened his eyes once more and let the blinding light fade to focus. He realized the white light was snow. It was about 10 or 12 feet away from him and he...he looked around, he was under a rock? Quite literally John laid almost snuggly under a rock craig that stretched out ahead of him. Underneath him was hard rock and it's freezing temperature could be felt through John's wool jacket. It had to have been under -17 degrees. With cold rock on either side of him John could barely move in the foot and a half worth of space provided between. It was amazing he had woken up rather than going into hypothermia. And not only that, but to John's dismay his hands were tied tightly behind his back and another rope attached those binds to the ones on his feet. His bad shoulder being pulled strenuously from its socket by the tight bind.

So here he was, stuck. No idea where he was, all he knew that it was day time. It couldn't have been more than a day since he was out assuming that the men who had done this to him threw him in there afterwards and left him to freeze to death. the doctor knew his body only could have survived maybe 16 hours out like that with out shutting off. And if he could find his way out of this small cave, then what would his next move be? He had no knife, not phone, no Sherlock... Sherlock, what had happened to him? Had he gotten away or was he tied up in some other hole in the ground?

He glanced around again, looking around for signs of another body and thats when he saw it. Right outside the cave was a mass of snow and in the corner nearer to him it was stained brown, or possibly crimson.

"Sherlock?" John yelled. the mass didn't move.

"Sherlock!"

Still nothing. John looked around once again in hopes of something he could use to stir the motionless lump of snow. He quickly noticed a few loose stones at his feet and with much struggle he managed to knock one with his foot hard enough to thump lightly into the mound. It was successful as the mound stirred a little, but went still again after a minute or so. John steadied himself to throw another rock, but hesitated as the thought crossed his mind that this might not be Sherlock? Then again it could be and either way it might be his only way out of this mess so with more force behind his contorted kick he sent another rock flying towards the mass. This time it landed squarely at the head of whatever it was and the person began to stir enough that the light layer of snow fell from their form.

It was Sherlock, John sighed a breath of relief as the unruly hair and familiar blue scarf was revealed, but his breath was taken away again when the doctor noticed the deathly blue of Sherlock's thick lips and the nasty red gash across his pristine forehead.

"Oh, oh oh. Sherlock!" John yelled and watched heart brokenly as the detective squinted up at him from across the rock.

"John?"

"Sherlock, what happened?"

"John, I'm so cold." It was then John noticed the shivers that had started to rack Sherlock's slender frame. His heavy wool coat was drenched from the snow that had been melting on it and the loss of blood hadn't helped much either.

"Sherlock, come here." John ordered. "I can't, John. It's so, It's too cold, John, I can't-" "Shhhshh"

John quieted Sherlock before he could waste anymore heat on his talking and looked instead at the distance between him and Sherlock. Since Sherlock was slightly to his left he gauged it to be about a good 13 or 14 feet. This is impossible, John thought to himself. He had to get to Sherlock, if he didn't he doubted the skinny man had enough heat to last himself much longer, but with his hands tied so impossibly behind his back, the stretch to get to Sherlock would be beyond difficult.

John began his movement slowly stretching his shoulders and neck impossibly forward before swinging his hips and feet forward, the ropes making the movement almost impossible and he only gained a couple inches in distance. This trek stretched on for what seemed like hours as John slowly inched his way closer, sherlock growing fainter at every moment. When his eyes would start to close John would yell his name and beg Sherlock to continue looking at him with those icy eyes and he did. As he drew only a few feet away John was unpleasantly shocked to find that the ground became rough with ice and rough rock crevices and with his shirt have slid up in his movements, John's sides was ripped into by these sharp surfaces. He almost stopped at that moment, not realizing how the cold had slowly seeped its way into his bones and that he too was now shivering. But a small moan escaped Sherlock and John's passion was renewed as he wiggled the last few feet despite the skin of his side being torn apart in the process.

When he reached Sherlock he pushed himself up as close as he could, resting his forehead against Sherlock's and letting his warm breath wash across the other's frozen face. They were nose to nose, chest to chest, and groin to groin and John was suddenly overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all, but forgot his uncomfortableness quickly when Sherlock pressed his face against John's and his ungloved hands slipped into the folds of John's jacket.

"John," his voice barely louder than the wind whipping past their faces, "John, I'm so sorry."

"It's f-f-fine, Sherlock." John replied his teeth chattering as Sherlock's frozen nose found the shell of his ear. "As long as you're warm." Sherlock only shivered in response and drew closer.

Minutes, possibly hours past they lay there in a fragile balance of cold and warm, as Sherlock gained some warmth the wind against them along with the snow lessened the effect of shared heat, leaving both of the men tired and chilled.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, are we going to die out here?" John asked quietly, his mouth almost frozen shut. For several long paint-staking minutes Sherlock did not reply until finally saying, "Not unless my brother has a damn thing to say about it."

…...

28 hours. It had taken 28 god damn hours for his incompetent brother and his"government agencies" to find Sherlock and John who had by that time almost frozen to death in a deep sleep as the snow had continued to pile around them. They now found themselves at home, a day after walking around the house in heavy blankets and warm mugs of tea constantly in their hands as they struggled to regain the warmth they had felt before their scare in the heavy snow-laddened woods. Neither of them had been very successful in recovering that feeling of not only warmth, but safety. Safety from the cold and safety from death, and possibly in the back of Sherlock's mind the safety of never having to possibly loose John. His doctor, his friend, his confidant.

By the end of the day, both flatmates of 221b found themselves curled up on the couch, a huge fire roaring in the hearth, but not managing to keep either man warm.

It started unknowingly when John had unconsciously curled his toes up under Sherlock's leg, finding a small amount of warmth there. It had continued when Sherlock had stuck his hands in between John's legs in an effort to use them as mittens, and had eventually ended up with both men stretched out across the couch, John's back to Sherlock, but wrapped up in each other's arms.

After possibly an hour John tilted his head slightly to look back at Sherlock, who stared back, waiting for John to speak.

"I'm so glad." John stopped, searching for the right words. "I'm so glad it was you" he finally said. And Sherlock didn't need an explanation to understand all the implied meanings behind those few words. The most prominent being that if they had indeed died that it would have been with each other, but that hadn't been the case. No, instead they survived thanks to one another and if anything like this should happen again...well Sherlock was not going to let that occasion pass with out John knowing what he needed to know.

So with a cautious pace Sherlock slowly wrapped his arm tighter around John and let the other slide up to lightly stroke his collar bone. Under his hand at John's side he could feel the bandages over the wounds John had acquired while trying to reach Sherlock and he held them gently almost as if saying thank you for doing this, all of this for me. John's breath hitched, but he didn't stop him. With that silent permission Sherlock began to lightly pepper John's neck with soft kisses, until finally John turned around again an caught Sherlock's mouth with his.

They spent the rest of the night by the fire, giving each other soft kisses and heated touches that provided a warmth nothing else could make.


End file.
